


Eight Lazy Nights

by kaci3PO



Category: Happy Endings (TV)
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, F/M, Hannukah, Jewish Character, Jewish Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaci3PO/pseuds/kaci3PO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight random Hanukkahs in the life of Max Blum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancinbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/gifts).



"Sooooo," Penny says, drawing it out until it becomes practically an entire sentence rather than just one word. "What are the plans for Hanukkah this year?"

"I don't know. Ask someone who plans things. I'm Max."

"Nuh-uh," Penny says. "You can't pin this one on someone else. You're our only Jew."

Max whines. "Why do I got to be the only Jew?"

"Because we have no other friends," Penny says reasonably. "So what are the plans?"

"I don't know," Max repeats. "Candles, I guess. Do we have to?"

"Your traditions are important, Max!" Penny insists.

"Don't tell me about my traditions," Max groans. "Look, it's a pretty simple holiday. There's no decorations, there's nothing to buy, you just light some candles and say a blessing and then you eat fried stuff."

Penny frowns. "How are you not excited about a holiday for which you are pretty much _commanded_ to eat fried stuff?"

"Do you see my bubbe around to make latkes?" Max asks.

"Well, no, but what about Dave? Dave is an ah-mah-zing cook!"

Max shrugs. "Latkes are not the same as hashbrowns."

"What's the difference?"

"Dave makes hashbrowns. My bubbe makes latkes."

Penny sighs. "What if we find someone else's bubbe to make you latkes?"

"What? You can't _borrow a bubbe_. There's no _Rent-A-Bubbe_ program."

Penny gasps. " _Maybe we should make one!_ To help out Jews like you who are away from their families during the holidays!"

"No!" Max says quickly. "No, no, Penny, don't — "

But it's too late. Penny's vaguely offensive Rent-a-Bubbe program goes live in time for the last night of Hanukkah in what she calls a great project to unite lonely senior citizens with latke-less Jews but which the cops more accurately term human trafficking due to the fact that many of her bubbes are legally unable to consent to participate in the program as a result of their Alzheimer's or dementia.

Max doesn't even get a single latke out of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave tries to cook for Hanukkah.

"Max," Dave says, holding out a small sandwich of indeterminate origin. "Try this."

"No," Max groans, and wraps one protective arm around his already protruding belly. "I'm tired of being your test monkey. Go find someone else to stuff."

"Wow," Alex says, awe-struck. "Dave, you did it. You managed to fill up Max."

"I'm not _full_ ," Max protests with as much haughtiness as he can muster. "I'm just tired of Dave's terrible recipes. My people have a long and illustrious cooking tradition, dude. If you want to make something culturally appropriate for Hanukkah, just buy a damn recipe book."

Dave scoffs. " _Cooks_ use recipes, Max. I am a _chef_. And my dishes have _not_ been that bad."

"They have," Max feels compelled to point out. "And the puns you keep naming them aren't helping."

Dave's eyes go wide, all gravely offended. "I thought you _liked_ the menorah-stroni soup."

"Eh," Max says, giving an exaggerated shrug. The menorah-stroni was actually the least objectionable of Dave's dishes, but it's just so funny to watch him be all hurt and angry.

Dave snatches the sandwich back out of Max's reach even though Max was making no motion to grab it and starts huffing himself back towards the kitchen.

"Fine!" he calls. " _This_ Star of David isn't cooking you anything else! And I'm throwing away the Maoz Tzur-cchini dip!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Max introduces Alex to matzo ball soup.

"Oh my God," Alex says. She actually picks her bowl of soup up and tips it into her mouth, foregoing such petty things as spoons.

Max is both embarrassed for her, thanks to all the stares she's getting, and also kind of impressed at how quickly she wolfed down those matzo balls. Even he's still only halfway through his dish.

"What _is_ this stuff?" she asks. "It's like chicken soup but with _balls_ in it."

Max doesn't laugh. He is tempted, but is too busy trying to catch up to her to bother.

"Jewish penicillin," Max mumbles as he chews.

Alex gapes. "Wait, you can get penicillin without a prescription? At a _deli_? How did I not know this before? I could've used _so much_ of this in my twenties."

Okay, Max can take half a second's break in his chewing to smirk at that, but only half a second. Then it's back to slurping.

"Sure," he says, trying for casual. "I thought everyone knew."

Alex shakes her head. "No! I didn't! And it sure beats the hell out of all those shots in the ass."

Max chokes.

"Do they sell buckets to take home with you?"

"Buckets?" Max asks. "You need _buckets_? What exactly have you been up to?"

"Never mind," Alex says quickly. "Maybe I can find a recipe for Dave to make."

"I'm telling you," Max sighs, finally putting down his bowl. "Dave can't cook proper Jewish food."

Alex puts her hands on her hips. "And why not?"

"Because." Max is so tired of having to point this out to them. "Dave is not a bubbe!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brad has ulterior motives for wanting to re-form Boyz II Menorah.

"I was thinking," Brad begins. He looks nervous, which is odd, because Brad is about the most open person Max has ever met.

"Thinkin's over rated," Max mutters, and presses the buttons he knows are required to violently dismember Brad's on-screen avatar.

"I was thinking about Boyz II Menorah," Brad clarifies. "We should pick that up again."

"You have a job now," Max feels compelled to point out. "You don't need to emcee a bunch of thirteen year olds' coming of age parties."

"What can I say?" Brad says. "Those thirteen year olds give good party."

"Yeah, well, we're Jews," Max says. "We take our party where we can get it."

"I know. I just think —" Brad pauses. "Okay, forget the Boyz II Menorah thing."

"Good," Max says, and makes his character do a little victory dance over Brad's bloody remains.

"Where do you go to synagogue?"

"What? Where do I —" Max hits pause and blinks, turning to face Brad. "When was the last time you ever heard me say I was going to Temple?"

Brad tilts his head. "Yom Kippur 2008?"

"It was 2007," Max corrects. "So I have no idea, dude. Why are you so interested?"

"No reason," Brad says, and does Max detect a note of shiftiness in his voice?

"Are you — are you asking because you want to _go_?"

"No," Brad says quickly. "I mean, yes, I do. Why? Are you mad?"

"Because if you go, you'll want to become a Jew because let's face it, we're _awesome_ , and then you'll convert and be more observant than me and my parents will _love_ you and ask me why I can't be more like that nice boy Brad, and maybe I should date him since he seems like a _faygela_ and Dave appears to have dumped me and gone back to girls and you can't, Brad, you can't, you can't!"

Brad blinks. "You would be _lucky_ to date me," he says, because that's clearly the important thing here. "I am a _very_ nice boy."

Max scrubs a hand over his face. "Whatever. But if you go through with this, you're not allowed to tell my parents."

"Deal," Brad says, but he's still pouting. Of course he is.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jane is a temptress and Max is easy to tempt.

"What are you doing?" Jane asks as Max lifts the menorah and puckers his lips.

Max pauses, duck-lipped, and looks up at her. Without changing his expression, he manages to mumble, "I'm blowing out the candles so we can move on to the food portion of the evening."

"No," Jane says, taking the menorah from him and setting it back down on the table, careful not to spill any wax. "The rabbis say you can't blow out the candles. You have to let them burn for at least thirty minutes until they go out on their own."

Max blinks. "Since when do you care what the rabbis say?"

Jane adjusts the foil she laid out under the menorah, smoothing it out primly. "Since I went to Brad's class with him last week. If Brad's going to be a Jew, then he's going to be the best damn Jew there ever was, and I'm going to be the most supportive wife ever."

"The best Jew?" Max asks. "Really? So like, better than Moses? Or Abraham? Or … that other guy whose name I forgot? It's been a really long time since Hebrew school, stop looking at me like that. The point is, Brad can't be as good of a Jew as them."

"Well," Jane says, considering. "That might be true. But he can be a better Jew than you. Wouldn't take much."

Max gasps, offended. "I'll have you know that I am an impeccable specimen of Jewishness! I am — I am —"

He stops, completely out of steam. "Fine," he admits. "It wouldn't take much."

"No," Jane agrees. "It wouldn't. That's why I made you a ham and cheese sandwich to go with the fried donuts. _After_ the candles finish burning, of course."

"You're a temptress," Max feels compelled to point out.

"You're easy to tempt."

"Damn it, I am," Max says, and lunges for the sandwich. Jane lunges for Max.

This is the moment Brad chooses to return from the bathroom. He stares at the two of them, locked in epic battle over the plate, and squints. "Is that — is that a sandwich? With meat and dairy? Jane!" he says, hands on hips. "You know that it's very important to me to keep kosher and —" He gasps, then leans forward and sniffs the air. "And that is _ham_?"

"It's for Max," she says quickly, shoving the sandwich into Max's chest. "You know how insistent he gets about food."

After a second's hesitation, Brad nods and holds his arms open for Jane to walk into. She leans up on her tiptoes and they kiss. It's enough to make Max want to give up on the sandwich.

Brad turns his attention to Max and shakes his head. "Ham, Max?" he asks. "With cheese? And on a _holiday_?"

"Hanukkah's not even that important!" Max insists. "It's barely a holiday! It's not even in the Tanakh!"

Brad shakes his head. "Of course Hanukkah's an important holiday," he says. "It happens in _December_."

"Oh my God," Max hisses, and bites into the sandwich.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brad promised.

It's the fourth night of Hanukkah and no one has said anything. For years now, they have pestered Max with their badly punned soups; their insistence that he make a big deal out of this holiday despite most of them not caring about any other Jewish celebration; and in the case of Brad, their interest in making his religion their own. Max knows that Brad and Jane have been celebrating on their own because he saw a menorah at their apartment when he visited yesterday, but they didn't say anything about it or invite him to any parties, so as far as he can tell, they really are celebrating on their _own_. Without him.

It's been two years since Brad started going to Temple and he has insisted Max be there for both of the Hanukkahs that fell in between. Even when he spent the whole time criticizing Max's choice not to keep kosher, he still insisted that Max _be there_. Like the two of them _needed_ Max in order to celebrate the holiday.

And now that he thinks about it, it's been the same with the other at-home holidays, too. Max has been dragged to more Passover seders in the last two years than he has since he moved out of his parents' house and went off to college.

Max doesn't understand why they suddenly don't need him in order to celebrate Jewish holidays. Unless — wouldn't Brad tell them about that? Wouldn't he be so giddy that he couldn't keep his mouth shut? Wouldn't he —

He picks up the phone and dials Brad's number.

"Y-ello?"

"Are you a Jew?" Max blurts out. "Like for real and officially? Are you a Jew now?"

There's a tiny, almost insignificant pause, and then Brad breathes out, "Yes," like the weight of the world is suddenly off his shoulders.

"When?"

"Two weeks ago," Brad says. "Jane's planning a party at our apartment for the last night of Hanukkah and I was going to tell everyone then." A pause, and then he asks, "Are you okay?"

"I —" Max starts, and then shakes his head to clear it. "Yeah," he says. "Just — just don't tell my parents. You promised."

"I remember," Brad says. "Will you come to the party?"

"Yeah," Max says, and hesitates before hitting the end call button. "Congratulations," he adds hastily, and then hangs up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which this is the longest holiday _ever_.

"This is the longest holiday _ever_ ," Penny sighs. "Like, it was pretty the first two nights but I am so tired of staring at candles. Why are there so many candles?"

"Blame the Greeks," Brad says. "If they hadn't been getting all up in our Temple, this wouldn't have been an issue."

"Drink more wine," Max suggests. "It helps you forget that you've been doing this for a week straight."

"Oh, is that what that's for?" Penny asks, and takes a swig right out of the bottle of Manischewitz, unable to prevent herself from pulling a face at the taste.

"It's a time honored tradition," Max says, and slumps back on the couch with his own bottle of wine resting on his chest. "Why do you think we drink this stuff? It's not for the sophisticated notes of oak and cherry."

Alex snorts and falls off her chair. Someone should take the half-empty bottle — her second — she's still clutching, but she seems content to lie there on the floor, curled around it with a happy smile on her face and Max can't bring himself to suggest it.

This is what the holidays should be about, he thinks. Getting absolutely blasted off terrible kosher wine with his friends.

It's not his fault that Dave's super funny when he's drunk, all stumbling around the kitchen and muttering about more beef, where's the beef, why isn't there _beef_ so that he can cook them all a three-course dinner of beef with beef on the side?

It's also not his fault that Brad and Jane are handsy drunks, making out and groping every time they think no one is looking at them even though they're terrible at stopping once someone glances their way.

It's _really_ not his fault that Penny is warm and slumped half on top of him, her fingers curled around his side and her breath steady on his chest. It's not his fault that this, this time when his blood has been replaced by alcohol, is the only time he can let himself cuddle anyone back, and only then because he knows no one else is looking.

The holidays are awesome, he thinks, because they're the only time when everyone just shuts up and loves each other.

He will remember none of this in the morning, and he thinks it's better that way.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which gambling _is_ traditional...

"So, um," Max says, shifting from foot to foot. "Do you want to light the candles, or should I?"

"Why don't we do it together?" Mark asks.

"Oh," Max says. "Yeah, okay."

After he's lifted the shamas out of its holder, Mark covers Max's hand with his and guides it to the first candle. Down the row they go, pausing at each one until finally, all eight candles are lit.

Max sets the shamas back in its place and barely has a chance to figure out what he's going to say when he feels Mark's warm hand on his side.

"Happy Hanukkah, Max Blum," Mark says, and leans in to kiss him.

Max doesn't do holidays with boyfriends. Hell, Max only barely does holidays _or_ boyfriends, period. Max didn't even know that Mark was Jewish when they started dating, although it was a pleasant surprise when he found out. His parents haven't tried to set him up with anyone since Mark insisted they go spend the High Holy Days with Max's family a few months ago. The relief is sort of overwhelming.

Max kisses him back, cupping Mark's face in both his hands. Mark's mouth is soft and good and Max wants to stay like this all night.

"I'm —" Mark pants out between kisses, "I'm glad we decided to spend the last night just the two of us. Our friends are great, but we're not Brad and Jane and I wouldn't feel comfortable doing this with everyone else there."

Max starts to protest that it's just kissing and surely their friends could handle that, but then Mark starts to undo the buttons on Max's shirt and no, they couldn't.

"Mark Thalheimer, I do believe you kept our friends away tonight just so you could seduce me," Max murmurs in an affected voice.

"Maybe," Mark agrees. "So...we have about thirty minutes before the candles go out, and since gambling _is_ traditional and all, wanna make a bet?"

"What kind of bet?"

"A race to see which candles blow out faster, the ones on the menorah or ours."

"You are terrible," Max says, making a face.

Then, "My money's on us."

**Author's Note:**

> Rachael told me all she wanted for Hanukkah was eight days of Happy Endings ficlets and this is the result. Hope it suffices.
> 
> One part will be posted each night of Hanukkah; all parts are completed and will be posted as scheduled.


End file.
